"Because he was born on the cusp between Cancer and Leo—which is to say, drawn on one side to the hermit’s cave, on the other to centerstage—he both craved the familiarity of a private, personal domestic space and loathed the idea of being fettered by permanence or possession. At least astrologers would attribute the ambivalence to his natal location. Someone else might point out that it was simply an acute microcosmic reflection of the fundamental nature of the universe."
Tom Robbins

Thursday, December 29, 2005

One track mind

Wow, I have gotten NO WORK accomplished in THREE DAYS! How amazingly unproductive of me. But while typing out guest lists and potential first songs and bridesmaid lists and flower choices, I keep admiring the way my ring flashes in the fluorescent light. So pretty.

I am helpless but to obey the power of the One Ring.

Yesterday, in between searching for photographers online and vandalizing the leftover office Christmas treats, I had to go visit the allergist to see what the fuck is going inside with my head. Two months of sickness is making me wither. I could be Darth Vader’s stunt double and James Earl Jones would weep with jealousy.

At 1:30 the allergist and her team of sadists began the extensive interview process, reviewed my CT scans, tested all my vitals…then at 2:30, the stabbing began. STAB! STAB! STAB! And they had to do the stab tests sloooowwwly, lest I suddenly go into anaphylactic shock. That was super fun. I highly recommend it as a way to spend your ENTIRE AFTERNOON. And the nurse kept coming in and applying more needles, and she kept saying, “Hmmm…surprising.”

Not nice.

And then she’d say, “I’ll be back in 15 minutes, don’t scratch,” which even if you’re not itchy, makes you want to writhe around on the wool carpet, grunting like a dog in a dead squirrel (was that too descriptive?).

So the lesser stab tests shows…NOTHING! So they move on to shots under the skin. STAB! STAB! There were so many, she refused to tell me the total number. I look like something out of the Matrix, I have so many holes in regular rows all over my torso and arms. I’m HIDEOUS! At least my fiancé, A.S. (hee), was properly sympathetic when I got out of the shower this morning. And by sympathetic, I mean a look of sadness and empathy, rather than shrieking and covering his face in horror whilst waving me out of the room.

Anyway, those tests also came up blank.

The suffering! The woe! All in vain!

Apparently I’m allergic to something atypical (it’s the fucking bats, people.) and they can’t test me for it without doing some research. So I’m on massive steroids and sprays and pills and all kinds of fun things, which, hallelujah, have rendered my nose operable for the first time in 57 days.

Last night, I could smell my fiance’s minty fresh breath. Please realize that there has been no prolonged smooching for some time, since it has the same reaction as X-Men’s “Rogue” with her paramours.

I lie around gaping like a fish after each bite of food even. It sucks.

Anyway, last night incurred lots of smooching. Lots and lots. And then this morning, I could SMELL! And TASTE! And I went for a run without collapsing in a ditch panting and begging for mercy, and when we ran past the waterfront park, I could actually smell bacon cooking. It was heavenly! Cheese tasted like CHEESE! Coffee tasted like COFFEE! The shnozberries tasted like SHNOZBERRIES!

Also, with the four hours spent being stabbed and abandoned, I got on the horn and booked the reception site, the church, the minister, the florist, the band…and I think that’s it. Today I booked a caterer. We’re having Spanish food and sangria (plus a regular bar) and lots and lots of CHEEEESE! Mahon, Manchego, Cabrales, Idiazabal, Iberico, Urgelia, Garrotxa, Valdeon…bring it all! God I love cheese.

So I guess maybe I haven't been totally unproductive. Just unproductive at work.